


Dream of Me, So that I May Enchant You as You Have Haunted Me.

by legends_live_in_memories



Category: DCU (Comics), Maribat - Fandom, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, I had a dream, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soulmate AU, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, but like dc-typical, mlb x dc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29509368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legends_live_in_memories/pseuds/legends_live_in_memories
Summary: How does one cope in a world knowing that someone is out there, forced to endure someone else's trauma? Forced to partake in each other's glorious victories and pitiful defeats? Secrets are meaningless when you know the very evils that haunt another person's soul, when you have lost sleep over someone else's grief. How does one become acquainted with another who knows them so intimately yet is as familiar as a total stranger?A soulmate au where a person's strong memories become their soulmate's dreams. Chaos, inevitably, ensues.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 125





	Dream of Me, So that I May Enchant You as You Have Haunted Me.

It was cold. Unnaturally so. He can see his breath fog in the air, feel the sting of the currently still atmosphere. Breathing hurt. The frigid inhales slashed at his lungs and windpipe so much so that he didn’t want to do it anymore. He felt his eyes blur and cloud over his vision, opaque from unshed tears. Everything around him was covered in this thin sheen of frost. No, that’s not right. Everything was frozen solid. Hardened inside and out. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a hand snap and fall off a statued child, shattering at the impact. The sound cut through the atmosphere but was immediately blanketed in the deathly silence again. He heard himself gasp and saw his hand reach out to touch the frozen child. Hesitantly. Afraid that even a strong breeze would be the child’s total undoing. The red gloved hand couldn’t completely breach the distance between him and the fear-stricken child. He wasn’t in control of his body; he usually isn’t in these situations. He spun around taking in everything of the snow blue landscape instead. Glass-crisp leaves fell from dead trees; their rhythmic shatters not enough to disturb the still in the air. Windows splintered from the unbearable temperature. The new wind was biting and brutal. If it weren’t for the magical protections of the suit, his body would have shut down. It would have failed him like salvation had failed these people. 

No one around was breathing but himself. He couldn’t hear the voices of any survivors. He doubted there were any to listen to anyways.

No one moved but him.

No one was free but him.

The muted horror scene sent shivers down his spine. 

_Princess?_

The frigid voice had him petrified ramrod straight. It was unnerving. Chilling. He felt the body turn to face the haunting, empty voice. He was gazing upon a familiar face, perverted in shades of white. Green eyes that used to hold nothing but affection burned blue with glacier-like contempt. The figure took a step forward. His body took one step back. Another step forward. Two more back. They danced around each other; never getting closer, never getting farther. The white ears atop the other’s head twitched then flattened. A soft mewl escaped pale lips and he felt like he was facing a wounded cat. He felt his lips move, breathing words into the air but his fear drowned them out from his understanding. The figure in front of him stretched their arm forward, pleading for something. He was familiar with this too; but usually those asking were caricatures of their true selves. Their pain was carnivalized for a megalomaniac’s entertainment and desperation. This white cat was always by his side in these moments, never on their side. Never before him as an enemy. 

The body he was in looked around again. He saw the base of the Eiffel Tower. The heights of the tower faded into the pale sky as it too was victim to the new ice age. Looking closer, peering through the menagerie of locals and tourists, he felt drawn to the two figures standing just directly beneath it. A man and a young girl. He moved forwards, his legs moving apprehensively. It was only his willpower that kept him upright. He kept advancing until he was within an arm’s length of the girl. She was trapped in a frozen scream, arms raised to protect herself. It was futile. She was subjected to the same fate as everything else. Everyone else. _They’re all dead._ He saw that one of her twintails had snapped off like a dry twig, broken on the ground just behind her. He wanted to touch her. To wipe the crystal tears that sparkled above her mask. _What now?_ He tried to recall how he got here. White rabbit, rabbit hole, mistakes, consequences, butterfly, and now, here. That’s all his fractured memory supplied him. They didn’t help him much but at least most of those elements he had grown familiar with.

The white clad figure approached again. He backed away again, abandoning the girl, intentionally ignoring the grown man. He faced his opponent head on and tried to stand tall, steeled with new resolve. The fear was still clutching his heart however, so his display of confidence was painfully lackluster. He reached down for the yoyo at his hip, his only weapon, its solid weight offering no reprieve. The white figure lunged, claws poised at the ready and hackles raised, dangerous intent painting sky blue eyes. 

* * *

Damian awoke with his shirt clinging to his frame and the sheets ensnaring his legs. His blood roared in his ears, numbing his other senses. He struggled under the covers trying to get out of bed. His frustration only served to increase his panic which increased his frustration. Once he had finally untangled himself from the bedding, he skipped trying to collect himself and moved on instinct and muscle memory. He stumbled into the ensuite bathroom and splashed water on his face, forgoing even turning on the lights. 

It’s been years since he’s first started having that particular nightmare. Each time he notices something different. When he was fifteen, two years after the first time, he noticed how the moon was abnormally shaped, distorted and frail. Once, he noticed how his feet never made a sound when he stepped, no matter how hard he had trodden across the icy ground. Tonight, it was something benign; the tears on the white figure’s face,they seemed almost absurdly normal given the situation. He splashed his face again, scrubbing all remnants of sleep and of that nightmare from his consciousness. 

He hated nights like these; when his sleep is plagued with battles won and bodies worn. From the age of thirteen until he was nearing sixteen, almost every night was bombarded with a new fight, with a new face. He hated how useless he felt after each, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do to assist the girl whose memories he had been living. Knowing he was stuck an ocean away because of arbitrary politics. Those dreams reminded him of the unfairness of the world. Reminded him that even something as personal and private as memories could inflict cruelty and pain onto victims. No one asked to be privy to a personal perspective of their other half’s deep-rooted insecurities. Regardless if the trade-off was someone’s best and happiest memories, no one should be forced to involuntarily share trauma with someone they’ve never met. Those nightmares, and those his soulmate must endure, serve as grotesque reminders. He still had those dreams, occasionally, but this one was particularly persistent in ruining his sleep. Perhaps it was karma, for undoubtedly overwhelming his soulmate with nightmares of assassins and assassinations. With nightmares of street fights, and bomb threats, and riots, and prison breaks, and violence in equal measure that keeps him up in the early hours. Clearly, he and whoever was on the other side of his connection were not going to live peaceful lives. 

Once his heartbeat was back to normal levels, and every breath didn’t feel like pulling glass shards out of his lungs, he retreated back to his bed. The alarm clock read 4:52 am. Too early to be asleep, too early to be awake. He would normally be up in the next forty minutes to start the day with exercise. Thinking back to his current exhaustion, Damian decided to forgo routine. He slipped out his room, footsteps light and strides brisk as he made his way to the manor kitchen. The halls were dimly lit but he had grown intimately acquainted with the shadows of the manor.

While down there, he tried to focus on the good memories his soulmate has shared with him throughout the years as he moved about the kitchen. Fresh bread, fencing competitions, friendly food fights in hotel rooms, fashion shows. Those dreams always left him feeling floaty. He breathed easier in the mornings after; slower to anger. They were a balm to his soul even in his childhood when he didn’t know what those dreams were. He found peace and calm in the normalcy of those memories. He also discovered this pesky emotion called guilt once he learned what these dreams really were and realised what he was subjecting the girl to, but he had already made his peace with the universe that he and anyone around him were destined to suffer if his most frequent nightmare is any indicator. 

Stirring his freshly brewed tea, he remembered a new dream he had a few weeks ago. A good memory from his soulmate, swept up and regrettably forgotten due to the chaos of his own life. A memory that would change both of their lives for the better. Hopefully. He closed his eyes and thought back to the elation his soulmate felt when she found out she got accepted to the same university he currently attends. He remembers the way she felt as she pranced around her ridiculously pink room that he had committed to memory and raced to share the news with her parents. He had relished in her excitement then, and he’s basking in it now. The best distraction from the most recent hour of the night. 

As the sky turned from the midnight blues to the dawning peach of the new day, Damian had long drained his cup and completely flushed the effects of the nightmare out of his system. He’s had years of practice, after all.


End file.
